


bruises make for better conversation

by nightwideopen



Series: Bucky Barnes Bingo [9]
Category: Marvel
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bingo, Bucky Barnes & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Bucky Barnes Bingo 2020, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Comics/Movie Crossover, Lovers to lovers, M/M, Pain Kink, Supernatural Elements, Vampire Clint Barton, Winterhawk Bingo 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:00:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26330773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightwideopen/pseuds/nightwideopen
Summary: “Jesus Christ, Barnes, what the hell is that?”Bucky let Clint feed off of him last night, and it got kind of… intense. To say the least. But he can’t exactly tell Tony that because he doesn’t know where Clint’s at with their whole… sexual blood sucking thing.Also, no one knows that Clint is a vampire.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Series: Bucky Barnes Bingo [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1858942
Comments: 26
Kudos: 134
Collections: Bucky Barnes Bingo 2020, Winterhawk Bingo Round Two





	bruises make for better conversation

**Author's Note:**

> one vampire clint barton coming right up
> 
> Winterhawk Bingo Square Filled: **Supernatural AU**  
>  Bucky Barnes Bingo Square Filled: **AU: Supernatural**
> 
> title from Bruises by Train ft. Ashley Monroe
> 
> maybe i took it too literally. sue me

“Jesus Christ, Barnes, what the hell _is_ that?”

Bucky frowns and checks his shirt for any coffee stains. Clint’s still asleep so there hasn’t been any opportunities for spillage, so he should be fine. He’s more than capable of drinking a cup of coffee without getting it all over himself, especially when there isn’t a six-three archer draped over his back trying to get him to slow dance in the kitchen while both of their eyes are still closed. At least he thinks he is. 

And sure enough, his shirt is clean. 

“What’s what?”

Tony marches across the kitchen and presses a finger into Bucky’s neck. And the tenderness of the skin makes pain bloom up and down his shoulder in the best way but more importantly _why is Tony touching him?_

“What’s _that?_ Did someone try to murder you?”

“I—”

Bucky’s legs are still jelly from the pleasure-pain of Tony irritating the bruise. People really should ask before touching him and accidentally turning him on in the middle of the kitchen in the middle of the day.

But before Bucky can berate Tony for that, Tony’s hand turns into a gauntlet out of nowhere, shiny and silver and the perfect surface to double as a mirror. He holds it up for Bucky to inspect his own neck, even though he already knows what’s there. He’d let Clint feed off of him last night, mostly because Clint is really bad at asking and Bucky really fucking loves it and one thing led to another and it got kind of… intense. To say the least. Bucky can’t exactly tell Tony that because he and Clint haven’t exactly… 

Bucky doesn’t know where Clint’s at with their whole… sexual blood sucking thing. And he’s not about to go running his mouth about something they haven’t talked about themselves. 

Also, no one knows that Clint is a vampire.

But besides that, he kind of likes it being a secret, having Clint all to himself. He likes keeping _Clint’s_ secret. It feels good to know that Clint trusts him. Plus all the sneaking around kind of adds to the excitement. Bucky hasn’t had this much fun in almost a century.

“Uh, yeah. Had a run in with some Hydra agents last night. Tried to take me down with a taser. They must’ve upped their technology.”

Bucky fits his mug to his lips to shut himself up before he digs himself into a hole of lies. It’s not the worst lie, because Bucky can easily fight off a gaggle of Hydra goons on his own in the middle of the night with an armful of groceries while blindfolded, but—

“Shouldn’t something like that have healed by now? Are you sick? You look pale.”

Bucky pats Tony on the shoulder and makes sure to hold eye contact. “Just tired of this conversation, Tony, that’s all.”

Tony starts to stutter, but luckily they’re both saved by Steve, Natasha, and Sam venturing into the communal kitchen, conversating loudly. 

“Oh, hey Wonder Boy,” Natahsa greets. She likes to call Bucky things like Wonder Boy because she knows he doesn’t get the references. It used to bother him because he’d be too embarrassed to look it up or ask JARVIS afterwards, but these days he has Clint to explain it all to him, so now it’s his own private joke. “This guy bothering you?”

“Yes,” Bucky says at the same time that Tony says, “No!”

Bucky rolls his eyes, praying for an out before Tony gets the three of them to gang up on him and his mysterious neck bruise, too. 

As if his prayer is answered, JARVIS’ voice informs everyone that Bucky’s presence is being requested in the lab.

“Alright, that’s my cue.” Bucky eases his way around Tony and waves them all off, trying to keep his neck out of sight from _everyone_. “See ya!”

When the elevator opens to the lab, Bucky expects to see Bruce, who’s bent over a microscope doing whatever it is he does up here for days on end. What Bucky doesn’t expect to see is Clint hanging upside down from the rafters. Bucky doesn’t know why Tony built the labs like this, with hanging light fixtures and endless exposed beams, but he suspects it’s because of Clint loves-showing-off-his-circus-skills Barton. That’s his legal middle name, Clint said so.

“Batman? Is that you?” Bucky calls when he spots him. 

“Ha ha. Very funny.”

“I know I am. I thought you were still sleeping.”

“It’s 2:30 in the afternoon.”

“And?”

Clint makes a face, considering it. “Good point.”

Back when Bucky first found out about Clint’s… condition, Clint made sure to squash every stereotype and every myth made popular by the media. Clint won’t die in the sunlight, isn’t nocturnal, actually has blood in his veins (“Why else would we drink it?”), and _does_ need to sleep. In fact, he loves sleeping. It’s one of his top five favorite things next to coffee, his dog, archery, and Bucky.

Bucky likes that he's in the top five. Clint is in his top five, too. Maybe even top three. 

In a blur of movement, Clint comes down from the ceiling, landing in a silent tuck-and-roll that he finishes with a flourish so that he ends up face to face with Bucky. It’s quite the display of acrobatics, and Bucky’s impressed, but he rolls his eyes anyway.

Then Clint presses a kiss to his lips.

Bucky’s eyes widen. He hisses, “Clint!” Then checks to see if Bruce saw.

“It’s okay, he knows.”

“He does?” Bucky looks at Bruce again. “You do?”

“Well, I had to confide in _someone_ before you came. He’d help me get blood from blood banks and stuff, help me come up with excuses when it’d been too long since I’d eaten. You know how grumpy I get.”

“Grumpy is _not_ the word for it.”

“It’s more along the lines of murderous,” Bruce pipes up from across the room. He seems entirely uninterested in the conversation. 

“Right. So he wondered why I stopped needing him and it kinda just slipped out that we're… you know.”

“Whatever it is, I’m very glad that Bucky is here now.”

“Aw, Bruce.” Clint twirls around so that his back is to Bucky and then does a trust fall straight into his arms. Bucky catches him, of course. “You say the sweetest things.”

Bucky looks down fondly at Clint, who’s just lounging in Bucky’s arms as if he hasn’t got a care in the world. Then he remembers the conversation that he narrowly escaped.

“What’d you call me down for?”

“You looked like you could use some saving.” He points a thumb in the direction of the far wall of the lab, where live footage of the communal kitchen is playing. “Did Tony pressing on your bruise like that get you all hot and bothered?”

Bucky begins to drag Clint over to the couches near the windows. “Yeah, no thanks to you. Never thought I’d _like_ being hurt. I have a fuckin’ Pavlovian repsonse to neck torture these days.”

“More than I ever needed to know,” Bruce says offhandedly. 

“Hey,” Clint says, “It’s not our fault you’re such good, trustworthy company.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere.”

Clint rolls his eyes with a smile. “Don’t mind him, he’s just jealous that he’s not the only one that knows my dirty little secret.”

“How can I be jealous now that I know _two_ dirty little secrets?”

Bucky has enough dignity left for his face to go hot. Maybe they should take this downstairs.

Clint’s apartment looks as though his belongings formed their own tornado and flung themselves around. It’s mostly clothes, scattered hoodies and shoes and the occasional sock. Bucky doesn’t mind the mess, because Clint’s inability to keep track of his things makes it super easy to steal his clothes and subsequently watch Clint wonder why those shorts look so familiar.

“You really should invest in turtlenecks,” Clint says as he clears off a spot on his kitchen counter to sit on. He grabs the carafe from the coffee maker and takes a long drink. Then he makes a disgusted face because the coffee is probably cold. Then he shrugs, and drinks some more. “You can’t go around letting someone else molest your neck.”

“That’s the only reason?”

“Yes. I’m very possessive if you haven’t noticed.” Clint smirks like he’s joking, but Bucky knows it’s at least half true. He’s got fading bite marks up and down his thighs to prove it.

“I’ve noticed. I like it.”

Bucky steps in between Clint’s knees, reveling in the way Clint dwarfs him from his perch on the countertop. He usually does anyway, with their significant height difference, but most of Clint’s height comes from his torso so he’s able to bend double over Bucky’s head when they’re like this. He presses a kiss to the top of Bucky’s head, finally setting down his disgustingly cold coffee pot. His arms come up around Bucky’s shoulders to his neck, and he deviously presses into the impressive bruise there.

Because the bruise really is something. If it looks anything like it did when Bucky checked it in the mirror this morning, he can understand why Tony would be worried. The puncture marks from Clint’s teeth have since healed, but the purplish blues of his skin are definitely cause for concern. It’s _massive_. Bucky loves it.

He means to snipe at Clint for pulling such a dick move but all that comes out of his mouth is a slightly erotic version of, “I hate you.” The cadence of his own voice shocks him. “Leave it alone.”

Clint pouts at him. “But you blush so pretty.”

“Not a good reason.”

“It’s the best reason, come here.”

Bucky wants to say, _I’m already here_ , but he doesn’t get the chance because Clint is attacking Bucky’s mouth with his own. Bucky’s lost protest turns into a whine and he finds himself trying to pull Clint closer to him than he already is. There’s not really anywhere closer for him to get, but it’s not for lack of Bucky’s trying.

Then Clint’s fangs nick his bottom lip and Bucky just about explodes. 

Clint pulls away, laughing brightly. “You’re the best, you know that?”

Bucky’s mouth stays hanging open, his lips tingling from the kiss. His heart stutters in his chest at the tone of Clint’s voice, at the stars in his eyes and the playful smirk on his lips. It’s like he meant to say something else. 

When Bucky doesn’t answer, Clint just kisses him again. 

“We should go for dinner tonight,” he says softly. “Somewhere fancy. We can put it on Tony’s AMEX.”

Bucky smiles at him without meaning to. The feeling in his chest makes him feel like crying, but more out of being overwhelmed than anything else. He’s never _felt_ like this before.

“Yeah. That sounds perfect.”

“Cool.”

Clint pulls him in for another kiss.

Bucky doesn’t know why he’s nervous. It’s just dinner. It’s just Clint. It’s _dinner_ with _Clint_. 

Maybe that’s why he’s nervous.

Fuck.

“Are you sure this is okay?” Bucky asks for the tenth time.

Natasha rolls her eyes from her perch on the end of his bed. There are clothes all around her. She does not look amused.

“If you ask that one more time I’m going to ask how you actually got that bruise on your neck.”

The infamous bruise from this morning has actually mostly healed, and it’s barely noticeable in dim light. It’s still pretty nasty, though, and for someone as perceptive as Natasha, she can tell what he’s doing by wearing his most high-collared shirt. Clint was right about the turtlenecks.

Natasha sighs, then gets up to fix his collar so that it’s less _just woke up_ and more _I did this on purpose_. She fixes his hair much the same, lips pursed. She looks like she’s trying not to laugh. 

“Stop laughing.”

“I’m not! It’s just cute. The two of you dancing around each other. I wonder what ястреб would say if he knew you were so—”

“Don’t tell him I told you!”

Bucky throws his head back and groans. He knew this was a bad idea, even if it wasn’t his own. It’s too much like a date, it’s too much like Clint likes him back. It’s too much like they’re already together and Clint is about to _propose_. 

“Told me what?” Natasha teases.

“Tasha, please.”

“ _Tasha please_ , what?”

Bucky grabs her wrists gently in his hands and looks at her very seriously.

“Tasha,” he lowers his voice to a whisper. “I think I love him.”

She smiles fondly, pats his cheeks with her semi-trapped hands.

“You idiot boys. You’re so sweet. So dumb.” Natasha laughs. But then she smiles softly. “Listen closely, Wonder Boy. There are many things about Clint that he hasn’t told me, that he’s chosen to keep to himself despite our closeness. Just like there are things I haven’t told him about me that I've told you. It’s about trust, and I can tell that he’s trusting you with things that he hasn’t trusted many people with, if anyone. He’s lighter around you, more himself. It’s nice to see. All you can do is reciprocate. And I think you do.”

“I do. I want to. I try.”

“You don't have to convince me. Just tell him what's true and he'll do the same.”

Bucky pouts. “Why can't you tell _him_ to do it first?”

Natasha fixes him with a look that says more than any words could hope to.

“Got it,” Bucky says.

The thing about dinner is… it's nice. It's really nice. Sure, Bucky almost choked when he caught sight of Clint leaning on their car, suit jacket slung over one shoulder, smoking a cigarette and grinning. He looked so fucking _smug_ and confidence looks so good on him. Were he not literally immortal, Bucky might've pulled the cigarette right out of his mouth but as it is, it's fine. And it looks damn cool. Sue him.

And going out to dinner with Clint is the same as doing anything with Clint: better because he's there. They could be eating falafels on the sidewalk in the middle of a hail storm and Bucky wouldn't care because they were together. But still, it's nice to be treated, it's nice to do something _nice_ with Clint because they both deserve it. Sure, it's on Tony but the illusion is there. 

Especially when Clint pulls Bucky’s chair out for him and Bucky has to physically stop himself from swooning.

But the awkwardness that he was almost expecting _isn't_ there, because it's them. It's easy. They chat and joke and make fun of the stuffy rich people who order hundred-dollar soup and send their steak back sixteen times. They get their hands dirty and spill a bit of wine and maybe laugh a little too loud but Bucky doesn't _care_. He's happy. He hopes Clint is, too.

Afterwards, when they've packed up their little doggy bags—much to the disgust of the other patrons—Clint walks them into Central Park. He takes off his jacket and undoes a few buttons on his shirt, lighting up another cigarette and offering Bucky a drag.

Bucky thinks he used to smoke, back in the war, but he's not so sure about it these days. He declines.

“Shoot, sorry. Is that something you told me already?” Clint sounds genuinely guilty at the thought of forgetting something like that.

“No, it's alright. If I have then I don't remember either.” Bucky chuckles, more to himself than anything. “You remember everything about me.”

“Well, so do you. About me. It's only fair.”

It's more than fair, it's because he _cares_. Bucky doesn't want to ever forget a single thing about Clint Barton. Not ever.

It's not even-Steven, Bucky fucking _loves him_. 

Bucky stops walking, grabs Clint’s hand so that he stops too. Clint turns around, surprised, tightening his fingers around Bucky’s. They've stopped under a streetlamp and it washes golden light over Clint. A real life angel of Bucky ever saw one.

“What's wrong?” Clint asks with his cigarette hanging from his lips. His expression goes dark, incisors elongating into his fangs. He looks around worriedly. “Someone following us?”

Shit, the life they lead.

“No, no. It's just… Clint.”

Bucky doesn't know where to _start_.

“Yeah,” Clint says, easy. His defenses fall. “That's me.”

That tears a laugh from Bucky. “You're an asshole. You're an asshole and I love you.”

Clint freezes and Bucky freezes because he absolutely _did not mean to say that_. Not in that way, at the very least. Apparently ‘you're an asshole’ is his way of saying ‘I love you’ and while it's very indicative of their entire dynamic, Bucky didn't mean—

“I love you too.”

Wait what?

“What?”

“I love you,” Clint says. “Too. Back. Also. Of course I do.”

Bucky thinks that maybe he should've made a speech recounting all of the ways he loves Clint Barton and how he hasn't felt this way about anyone else. He thinks that maybe going into this relationship sex-and-blood-drinking first was a bit backwards of them, but maybe it worked. Maybe they're just a pair of emotionally stunted assholes who decided that they could have the easy stuff without the feelings but _news flash:_ The feelings were there the whole damn time!

But this… 

“Well shit, Clint. I— Wow.”

“You said it first.”

“I know, but still. It's a lot. I didn't think—”

_“What?”_

At that, Clint uses his grip on Bucky’s hand to pull him closer. He flicks away his cigarette and drops his jacket to the floor and lifts Bucky right off his damn feet. Bucky wraps his legs around Clint’s waist on reflex, and this time he's got the higher ground. But he's still stunned, by the tone of Clint's question, by the unexpected display of his supernatural strength.

“How could you _ever_ doubt that I love you? I know I might not have said it, we didn't really talk about it but— Christ, I'm sorry. I'm sorry that you didn't know. I've been trying. Every moment I spend with you is just… the fuckin’ _best_. I should've told you.”

Bucky brushes a few loose hairs out of Clint’s eyes. His hair’s too long, his eyes too bright for this time of night. His grin’s too sharp and his freckles too _cute_. He's too much. He's everything.

“I should've told you, too,” Bucky amends. “It goes both ways.” 

“Well…” 

Bucky’s fingers drift from Clint’s forehead down his nose, over his mouth. Clint playfully nips at his fingers, and Bucky knows he can't help it. It's those little involuntary goofs that make Clint _Clint_.

“Now we know. Now we can tell each other everyday. We can hold hands all the time and gross everyone out with how in love we are.” Clint gasps. “PDA!”

Bucky has to throw his head back to laugh, heart swelling at the thought of Clint being so excited for everyone to know. 

“Yeah, I can see the look on Steve's face now.”

“Oh man it'll be _golden_.”

A huge clap of thunder drowns out anything Bucky might’ve wanted to say, and rain starts pouring down not a moment later, forcing Clint to drop Bucky back down to his feet. Then he turns around, offering up his back for a piggy back ride, Bucky dutifully climbs on, bracing himself for Clint racing them back to the Tower with his terrifying vamp-speed.

“You better hold on tight, spider monkey,” Clint says with a smug grin.

Bucky shakes his head, tightening his grip around Clint’s neck anyway. “I take it back. I hate you.”

Clint lets out a bright belly-laugh before speeding off. 

When they get back to the Tower, soaking wet, they load into the elevator, hands clasped, with Clint slightly out of breath. Sure he’s got super speed, but it was forty blocks and he still gets tired. Clint shakes out his wet hair right in Bucky’s face, earning him a playful pinch in the side. He squeals, ducking down to put his arms around Bucky’s middle and dig his face into Bucky’s neck. He gives a playful nip and this time it’s Bucky’s turn to make an undignified squeak.

That’s when the elevator doors to the communal floor slide open to reveal Sam and Natasha. Sam’s mouth immediately drops open, but Natasha just looks smug.

“Told you it’d be fine.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Bucky says. But he’s smiling, he can’t stop smiling. And he’s not going to let Clint go.

Sam seems less impressed. “Really? You two? Y’all are insufferable enough as friends and now—? Oh man. I’m moving out.”

“Don’t be jealous, Sammy,” Clint teases.

“Don’t call me Sammy.”

Natasha reaches into the elevator to press the _close door_ button.

“We’ll get the next one,” she explains. “Have fun, be safe.”

“Oh, man, Nat—” 

The doors close on Sam’s protests, and Clint snickers.

The next time the doors open it’s to Clint’s apartment, and he immediately detaches himself from Bucky to pull him along onto the floor. Bucky narrowly misses tripping over his own feet and a few stray shoes. 

“Come on,” Clint says excitedly, oblivious to Bucky nearly dying, “I wanna show you something.” 

Bucky’s heart starts to race as he follows Clint to his room—ground zero for the clothes explosion—scared and excited and anxious to see what Clint wants to show him. He hopes it’s not a gift. If he would’ve known that Clint got himself something he would’ve gotten something to give him as well. Bucky wants to give Clint a hundred somethings—he deserves the world. 

Clint sits him on the bed, then darts around the room quicker than Bucky’s eyes can keep track of. Suddenly, the room is half clean and Clint is sitting next to Bucky with bright eyes and windswept hair, hands behind his own back.

“What,” Bucky deadpans.

Clint just grins brighter.

“So you know how I'm, like, really old?”

“Right. Older than me.”

“Exactly. This place is an old folks home. So, uh, I'd been thinking about where I was in the 30s and 40s during the war and all that. Because I remember the aftermath, and I remember SHIELD cropping up. And I remember Peggy. I think she knew about me—”

“Peggy knew everything.”

“—That's true. Oh man, she totally knew. But anyways, I was digging through archives and shit. JARVIS helped me out, thanks J.”

“Always a pleasure.”

“And, well, look.”

From behind Clint’s back he produces a photograph. It's worn and colorless, torn around the edges and just about completely faded. It's… it's a group photo for the 107th regiment, right before they shipped out, and Bucky spots himself right away. He remembers that day the way he remembers most everything from the war. It's hazy and choppy but he remembers the details. He remembers how itchy his uniform was, he remembers holding his hat in his hands as his mother squished it between their chests the last time he hugged her. He remembers Becca pressing a kiss to his forehead and saying, _Come home in one piece, baby brother._

But then… then he looks closer. And he sees a face he knows better than his own. His eyes widen, and he looks up at Clint.

“Holy fuck, is that _you?”_

“The one and only.”

“Shit, Clint.” Bucky wracks his swiss cheese memory, desperately grasping for even an inkling of Clint. But even when he does remember, most everything from before he escaped Hydra is fried at worst, unreliable at best. “Did we—?”

“Aw, Buck. I'd remember you if we did. I wish… I don't know how we didn't. We narrowly missed each other but I swear if we'd even been so much as acquaintances, I never would've let you go, I swear.”

Bucky nods. “I know.”

“I remember, though, seeing you. You and your mom and your… your sister. She looked like she wanted to punch you in the mouth for leaving. And the photographer wouldn't stop—”

“Screaming,” Bucky finishes. “He was yelling and hollering for us to move this way and that and everyone just wanted him to get on with it already.”

“Yeah.” Clint smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. “Can't believe we were so close. I remember… _being_ there. I remember the war. When they told us that half the unit got captured I remember wanting to _do_ something about it. Would've blown my cover to hell, though. I'm so sorry. It was selfish.”

“It's not your fault, Clint. You were just trying to survive; that's all anyone was trying to do.” He takes one of Clint’s hands, hopefully comforting him. “No one could've known what was gonna happen. Besides, we found each other in the end. That's all that matters.”

And Bucky finds that he means it, more than he's meant almost anything in his life. He stretches across the distance between them to pull Clint in for a hug. He looks at the photo over Clint’s shoulder, wondering what could have been. But he quickly realizes that it's useless. He has Clint in the here and now, and he'll take that over a million what ifs.

The hug’s sincere enough that the melancholy passes; Bucky can feel the tension leave Clint’s shoulders.

He noses at Bucky’s neck. “Already healed, huh?”

Bucky pulls back, tugging at his shirt collar to expose more skin. He shoots Clint a cheeky grin. “Guess we'll have to fix that. Give everyone a nice scare tomorrow morning.”

“God, Buck, you know me so well.” Then a genuine grin takes over Clint’s face, his fangs making their second appearance of the night. He gets this hungry look that has nothing to do with blood. “Nothing like a little horror to wake the team up. C’mere.”

“Bite me,” Bucky says salaciously.

And the pun is most definitely intended.


End file.
